


Waking Up to Ash and Dust

by YumeNouveau



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Fight Scene, Just one kiss, M/M, Post-Apocalypse, R/S 24 Hour Challenge, Strangers, apocalypse au, lots of snark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-30
Updated: 2019-01-30
Packaged: 2019-10-19 04:05:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17594285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YumeNouveau/pseuds/YumeNouveau
Summary: My prompt idea for Chromat1cs 24hr Challenge.I went a post apocalyptic AU route cause that's my default vibe (no idea why I haven't written it before) but hope you enjoy!Let’s play Clue!Your work can be any length and must take place in either the kitchen, the library, the dining room, or the ballroom. It doesn’t have to be a murder mystery—if you’re so inclined then by all means, but I encourage you twist the prompt outside the box :>A central object, in whichever way you wish to construe its connection to your work, must be either a rope, a candlestick, a pipe, or a knife.You must use at least one of the following words/images: peacock, mustard, plum.You must NOT use any of the following words/colors: white, scarlet, green.





	Waking Up to Ash and Dust

Remus remembered the first time his mama had told him the sky used to be blue. He’d laughed at the absurd thought. The sky was yellow, everybody knew that. Sometimes violently red at sunset, then like a ripe plum at twilight. Since then he’d seen photos, old and weathered, in books and precious albums handed down by generations that somehow survived the blast, nuclear winter, and decades of radiation. He still didn’t quite believe it. 

Especially today. After riding through miles of ocre dunes his muscles ached and the exposed skin itched from flying grains of sand that bit him like invisible gnats. It felt good to step off the dune bike, run his fingers through his tangled hair and pull the mask from his lower face. He breathed a deep breath of warm desert air. It tasted like home. The surreal landscape, once irradiated, now lay dormant but permanently altered, just like the humans that now roamed it. Remus was one of the lucky ones, no extra limbs or deformities. Instead he inherited amber eyes that could see in the dark and a heightened sense of taste to to detect toxins in the air. It was more useful than some, less so than others, but he had no complaints. 

He propped his bike against a crumbling wall, rusty orange vines creeping up its surface covered in succulent-like blooms that had adapted to the harsh environment, and grabbed his bag. If his trip was successful, he’d return it full to the side of his dune bike. If not, well there were other dead cities to scavenge. There were always more cities. 

The sand blew up the steps, of which he was sure there were countless more buried beneath, concrete and cracked, leading up to pointless metal doors half off their hinges. Weather was an unkind mistress in these parts and he worried all he’d find within was decay. Remus kicked the doors open, one steel toed boot reverberating echoes through the structure as he peeked inside. No recent footprints, no shouts or sounds of guns being drawn. It seemed relatively safe. As a library was supposed to be.

Quick on his feet, Remus scrambled across overturned shelves, the bones of chairs and strange tech long past obsolete. The books near the front were a lost cause, too close to the door, to the elements that swept in with the ice, the monsoons, the early days of radiation. He vaulted a low wall into the back where his treasure awaited, paper gems in the darkness. From his satchel he pulled out a glowstone, bright blue and vibrant, luminous like a star in his hand. He held it aloft, scanning titles, pulling at spines, finding knowledge long lost but bitterly needed in these desperate times.

Then a sound, low but rhythmic, regular like footsteps, caught his ears. He tasted the air. It tasted like man. Spinning, Remus pulled the knife from his boot, flicking the blade open with speed his ancestors could only dream of in the fantasy of film. A man indeed, tall and dark, blocking his blow with a forearm against his own. Eyes like unrusted steel gleamed in the darkness over a mask painted with the teeth of a canine, sharp and foreboding. Remus snarled back, sending out a kick, but the man skipped to the side, nimble despite his height, all long limbs and easy grace. His books spilled from his bag with another spin and Remus cursed, taking his eyes off the man for an instant, but that was what he needed. The man took his advantage, kneeing Remus in the stomach and so he folded, but not out of pain, and he grinned as the other man thought him beat. Remus sprang, crashing into him, pinning the dark man to the ground, his legs locked around his attacker’s waist and left arm, his free hand pinning the right. Remus’ other held a knife to his throat. The man didn’t move a muscle.

“Give me a reason,” Remus said, quiet and curious. When the man said nothing he tried again. “Why did you attack me? Speak or your silence will be forever.”

“I just wanted to dance,” the man said, words muffled beneath the mask. Remus raised an eyebrow. Perhaps he misheard. He raised the hand with the knife, pulling the cloth from his assailant’s face. And then he gasped. Cheekbones like shards of glass, the nose of an aristocrat, perfect features beneath the eyes of a statue, a line of gold dune-dust bisecting his ethereal features. Remus had never seen a person so beautiful.

When the man moved Remus barely reacted, then he felt lips, hot and soft upon his own, stealing his breath and his reason all in an instant. And then Remus was on his back, the knife was to his throat. Remus hadn’t even felt the man take it from him. 

Now smirking, the stranger tilted his head. 

“Why did you do that?” Remus asked, breathlessly. The man shrugged from where he straddled his chest, pinning Remus’ arms to his sides with strong thighs as he pulled back to twirl the knife. 

“You attacked me, it seemed only fitting I fight back.”

“No, you attacked me,” Remus paired.

“And who had a knife?” 

“I…” Remus trailed off. “You snuck up behind me.”

“Not my fault you have bad hearing.”

“I have excellent hearing,” Remus huffed.

“Well what are you doing here?” the man asked

“Filling out a job application,” Remus rolled his eyes. “What do you think I’m doing? I was trying to find some books until you ambushed me.”

The man played with the knife. Dark finger-less gloves covered his palms as pale fingers twirled the deadly blade like he was born to it.

“And what were you doing here?” Remus asked, trying to regain some authority while still pinned to the floor. 

“Passing through.”

“Well you’re a long way from home Dorothy. Here we wear yellow, to blend in. Stay in that getup for long and you’ll get yourself shot. Or eaten. Or worse.”

“You gunna eat me?” the man asked with a chuckle. Remus didn’t like him, the man was not taking him seriously.

“I’m not justifying that with an answer. Now let me up or kill me, I’m bored.”

The man shrugged and pounced to his feet, all catlike reflexes as Remus struggled to push himself up with his forearms. His chest hurt after having this monster sitting on it, but when his heart hammered he felt more alive than he’d ever been in his life. 

“So what tribe are you?” Remus asked, pulling at the sleeve of the other man’s black attire. All bits of leather and cloth and cord, asymmetric and cobbled together yet looking completely fashionable, like the books Remus had seen of runway models before the blast. 

“I’m...between tribes. Sirius by the way. And you are?” The man did not hold out a hand, just flicked the knife in and out of its sheath while watching Remus’ eyes the entire time.

“Remus, from Griffin Tribe. And can I have my knife back now?”

Sirius raised an eyebrow and leaned in close. Too close. “You can if I get something in return.”

Sputtering and caught off guard by this rogue, Remus pulled away. “What do you want? I don’t have much food or water, I can give you a ride if it’s on the way. Or...you can help me and I can take you back to Griffin.” Why did he offer that, how stupid. You can’t just bring an outsider in with no reason. Remus would get hell for this one.

“What were you looking for here?” Sirius asked, changing the subject. The man was an odd one, that’s for sure. 

“Books, obviously,” Remus sighed. 

“Uh huh,” the man prompted.

“Medical journals mostly, we found a stash of pharmaceuticals but don’t know what they do, what they’re useful for. You can help me look if you want. If you can even read.”

Sirius gave him a pointed look. “I can read. Probably better than you.”

Remus would believe it when he saw it. 

So they sifted through piles and rows, Sirius throwing anything towards Remus he thought relevant. And trying his best to hit him in the head. Luckily Remus was no longer stunned after that initial kiss and felt back on his game. 

“So, running away or towards something?” Remus asked after a while. 

“Can it be both?” 

“It can,” Remus replied, placing a book into the satchel. 

“My parents wanted me to marry my cousin.”

“Oh…” Remus wasn’t sure how to respond. Incest was less frowned upon when there were fewer choices, but procreation within families often produced the worst genetic mutations. 

“Yeah, it was just the final straw. Grabbed my bike and left. Sadly it got sucked into a quicksand pit before town, so now it’s just me.”

“Why were you heading this way? Doesn’t look like you’re used to desert living,” Remus observed.

“Not sure. Change? Escape? I don’t know, but something felt like it was pulling me here. An invisible rope around my waist, tugging until I reached here. Then it just stopped, so I waited. Then you attacked me.”

“Er, right. Sorry?” Remus furrowed his brow. He really was, but with cannibals and rival tribes, you could never be sure.

Sirius shrugged and peeled away at a rotting page with the knife. 

“Is that part of your genetic gifts? These...feelings?”

Sirius shrugged again. “Nah, mostly I just got good hair.”

And, in fact, Remus had hardly noticed it for the startling features the other man possessed, but his hair was in fact rather unique. Long, almost to his elbows, it was pulled up on top, the sides intersected with small braids. But the color was what took Remus’ breath away. Black, raven dark, like a moonless night in the wastes, until it flowed to silver tips. Though Remus believed aesthetics were hardly the man’s only gift, he let it go. Let him keep his secrets. For now.

His bag finally full to bursting, Remus led the way with his glowstone until they hit the main room. Sirius walked behind, never looking at the ground, hands flicking the knife nimbly and watching dust motes fly through the air like fireflies of old. How the man didn’t trip was beyond Remus’ comprehension. 

“You never answered me properly,” Remus said, stalling, caught in a moment in his mind he couldn’t stop replaying. Soft lips upon his own.

“Why I kissed you?” Sirius said and Remus nodded. “Have you never been kissed before?”

“That’s none of your business,” Remus countered. This man was far too forward for only just meeting.

“What a pity.”

“Huh?” Remus was confused. 

“For those who haven’t had the pleasure of kissing you.” Sirius threw him a grin.

“I...um…”

“So where are we headed?” Sirius asked, striding to Remus’ dune bike. He flitted through conversation faster than Remus could keep up, the man made his head practically spin. But somehow he craved it.

“West, our compound is west,” Remus replied, recovering enough to swing onto the bike. Wide tires allowed it to stand in the thick sand, a propulsion system kicking in that made it practically glide across the perilous dunes. 

He felt Sirius’ strong legs fitted in behind him, gripping him, pressed close, and Remus let out a small noise. Sirius chuckled and wrapped an arm around his waist. 

“This is cozy,” he whispered into Remus’ neck, right below his ear. Remus shivered despite the heat. 

He decided to ignore it. “Do I get my knife back yet?” he asked, swerving the bike in a half circle, turning back away from the fallen structure of the library.

“What do you mean? You’ve already got it,” Sirius said into his ear.

Remus frowned. Then he felt it. The solid weight, tucked neatly into his trouser pocket atop his right thigh. How… Remus felt Sirius smirk against his neck and decided not to give the man the satisfaction of reacting. 

“Don’t pull this shit in Griffin, not everyone will be pleased,” he said instead.

“Don’t be jealous, I’ll only put my hands in your pockets,” Sirius snickered.

Remus dearly wished he knew where the quicksand was, it would be a blessing to accidentally unite this audacious man with his beloved bike.


End file.
